


Rebound

by thimble



Series: SASO 2017 [15]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 00:44:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 7,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12265446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thimble/pseuds/thimble
Summary: "Take me to him, or I'll—" Frustration cuts off the end of his sentence, flickers his fire on and off. Dark blue eyes regard him with amusement, slowing down enough to walk towards him, like maybe his threat level's gone down to pitiable lows."I'm waiting," his opponent says, and it's a combination of desperation and quick thinking that has Taiga catching him off guard to pull him forward, mouths colliding with all roughness and no amount of grace.Tatsuya would've laughed at him, would've said,that's not how you seduce your enemy, Taiga.But if the man's reaction is any indication—tongue grazing Taiga's teeth, hand fisting in Taiga's hair—his method works just fine, thank you very much.[miscellaneous AUs drabble dump for saso fills.01: aokaga - superheroes02: aokaga - aladdin03: aokise - fight club04: aokise - idols05: aokuro - zombies06: imahana - kiridai!imayoshi07: imahana - serial killers08: kagakuro - pacific rim09: kisehimu - cannibals10: kiyohana - good omens11: momoriko - james bond12: nijihimu - battle royale13: nijihimu - vampires]





	1. aokaga - superheroes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for [this](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/21522.html?thread=9615634#cmt9615634) prompt.

There isn't enough time.   
  
It's not new for him to feel like it's running out, because he never could stay in one place too long, constantly buzzing for the next big hit, the next cheap thrill. He's just not wired to keep still and take life as it comes; according to him and Tatsuya both, it's something they have to seize relentlessly, because (for him) there's no other way to live, and because (for Tatsuya) someone else might come along and take it for themselves.   
  
Of course, it has to do with their abilities too. With downsides like literally freezing to death or burning to a crisp, they work best in tandem, balancing each other out.   
  
'Never give up' is their mantra, and Kagami intends to follow it through.  
  
But there just isn't enough time.   
  


* * *

  
  
The two of them became notorious simultaneously, brothers given the gift of fire and ice, and they would've so easily been beloved by all had something greater not called to them louder. Adoration, accolades—he can't eat any of that shit for breakfast.   
  
(Maybe they would've been heroes, in another life, but they're not in this one and that's how they both like it.)  
  
But with the notoriety came enemies, and with enemies came separation. Which takes him to the present moment, his skin warming to the point of no return like a ticking clock.   
  
"Give him back." It comes out almost like a growl, and he had the teeth and claws to evoke the imagery but he can't do anything and his opponent knows it, not while Tatsuya's their captive.  
  
"Or what, hotpants? You'll torch your only lead?" The man opposite him moves like lightning, evading his attacks with ease. He even comes close enough to momentarily drape his arm around Taiga's shoulders and whisper in his ear. "Not like you can keep up with me anyway."  
  
"Get off me!" Taiga whirls around but the man seems to have made a dancing partner of his flames, making him seem blinding, untouchable.   
  
Lightning indeed.  
  
"Take me to him, or I'll—" Frustration cuts off the end of his sentence, flickers his fire on and off. Dark blue eyes regard him with amusement, slowing down enough to walk towards him, like maybe his threat level's gone down to pitiable lows.   
  
"I'm waiting," his opponent says, and it's a combination of desperation and quick thinking that has Taiga catching him off guard to pull him forward, mouths colliding with all roughness and no amount of grace.  
  
Tatsuya would've laughed at him, would've said,  _that's not how you seduce your enemy, Taiga._  
  
But if the man's reaction is any indication—tongue grazing Taiga's teeth, hand fisting in Taiga's hair—his method works just fine, thank you very much.   
  


* * *

  
  
There isn't enough time, but he thinks maybe Tatsuya would understand the wait if it pays off.   
  
"All right, I'll take you to him," says the man who'll only introduce himself as Blue, an insufferable smirk on his face that Taiga's always wanted to wipe off.   
  
"Just like that?"  
  
"Just like that. You were pretty convincing."   
  
Taiga kisses it off instead, sloppy as ever, but Blue reciprocates so enthusiastically Taiga's beginning to think the guy's never been laid in a way that satisfied him.   
  
"Your friends won't come after you or anything?"  
  
"They'll understand." Blue grins, like he doesn't care whether or not they would. "Even heroes need to get their kicks somewhere."


	2. aokaga - aladdin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for [this](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/21522.html?thread=9642770#cmt9642770) prompt.

There's something strange about this guy.   
  
His clothes are those of a commoner, but they're a little  _too_ common in Aomine's opinion. The fabric is coarse, but as if they were already coarse to begin with, and they were dirty, but dirty like someone ran them through mud instead of accumulating dust and grime over a period of time.   
  
The guy himself is coarse too, but only because his voice is a little too loud, his speech a little too imposing. Sometimes, when he slips, it belies the manners of someone who didn't grow up on the streets.   
  
"You're not from around here," says Aomine none too subtly, but only between the two of them. No need for anyone else to overhear. The guy glances up at the accusation, but isn't able to reply immediately, considering all the bread he's stuffed his mouth with. Aomine's got the time; he waits for him to swallow.  
  
And when he does, his tone is a little too defensive, like he's got something to hide. "What makes you say that?"  
  
"You've got it written all over you," replies Aomine, and rolls his eyes along with it. "A dozen pickpockets marked you the moment you walked in here."  
  
This time, it's the guy's turn to be accusing. "Are you one of them?"  
  
Aomine laughs, straight from the gut. " _I_  know you haven't got a single coin on you, and that makes me the best in town."   
  
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"   
  
"No, and what I'm about to say next won't either." Aomine motions to the bread stall, and the man behind it that's busy chatting with another merchant. "You planning to pay up or what?"  
  
"Uh," says the idiot.   
  
"Thought so. Want me to let you in on a secret?" Aomine leans in, conspiratorial. "This is when you're supposed to start running."  
  


* * *

  
  
His lungs are on the verge of an honor suicide and his legs are shaking from not having seen that much action in days, but that's his own fault for being out of shape. There's exhiliration to be found in every corner, and today, he's found it in a guy who tells him to call him Taiga.   
  
"I'm Daiki," says Aomine, breathless but grinning, to return the favor. Taiga's about in the same state as he is, no better and no worse, which means he's seen his fair share of action too.   
  
(Or some imitation of it.)  
  
"So, Daiki," says Taiga once he's no longer panting so hard, "why'd you decide to help me?"   
  
"What, a guy can't help some lost traveler out of the goodness of his own heart?" When Taiga remains unimpressed, Aomine continues, shrugging. "I figured you're from a rich background who wanted to slum it with the poor. If I helped you get back to wherever it is you came from, you'd give me a reward, wouldn't you? Honor code and all?"  
  
Taiga frowns, which means he hit a nerve—maybe a little too harshly than he liked. "I'm not goinig back."  
  
"What was that?"   
  
Taiga's gaze, once wavering, hardens into resolution. "I'm not going back, to 'wherever it is I came from.'"  
  
Aomine returns his stare for a moment, then relinquishes it. "Fair enough."  
  


* * *

  
  
"You're—" For the time time in a long time, Aomine's at a loss for words. "I knew you were somebody, but I didn't know you were  _the_  somebody!"  
  
Secret's out, and probably not in the way Taiga would've wanted it to be revealed. It started off innocently enough, with Aomine noticing that Taiga's got a knack for the sword a few altercations back, and invited (taunted) him into a match with borrowed (stolen) swords.   
  
The seal—the  _emperor's_  seal, no less—fell out during the fighting, and Aomine picked it up before Taiga could retrieve it first. Taiga probably couldn't bear to get rid of it, soft-hearted guy like that.  
  
"You've got the blood of the gods in your veins, or whatever it is they say," says Aomine, incredulous and maybe a little angry. "What are you doing hanging around someone like me?"  
  
"I'm not going back," is all Taiga says again. But, after seeming to process what Aomine said, he adds, "what do you mean, 'someone like you?' I've never met anyone like you."  
  
So honest, so sincere, and so utterly idiotic that Aomine's fury drains out of him like blood through a cut. Been a while since anyone's gotten under his skin like this.   
  
He laughs, soft and light, and the crease in Taiga's brow deepens. "What's so funny?"  
  
"I guess we all have something we're running from." When Aomine looks at Taiga this time, it's with new eyes—eyes that aren't so quick to look away. "Even the emperor's son."


	3. aokise - fight club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for [this](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/22249.html?thread=11843561#cmt11843561) prompt.

Kise has always been beautiful, and everyone knows it. That's what all the magazines clamoring to take his pictures have decided, and that's what all the girls at school fawning over him have taken as fact. And yeah, Aomine sees it—in Kise's fine blond hair, his smooth skin, his soft-sweet features, his build that's neither too lean nor too much, his fierce eyes that betray something more than an airhead underneath. He sees it in the photo books Kise insists on thrusting into everyone's faces at every chance he gets, sees it in the billboard ads displaying Kise's face across the city, sees it when Kise comes into practice all dolled-up from a shoot. He sees it even better when they're playing basketball, in Kise's fierce eyes, seemingly devouring every move they see and committing them to memory; in Kise's smooth moves, instinctive rather than practiced, flawlessly imitating everyone at their very best, including Aomine himself.   
  
Kise had told him, once, facing off against each for the first time wearing jerseys in different colors, that as much as he wanted to Aomine, he never really wanted to surpass him, never wanted to see him fall from grace. Aomine had wanted to laugh (hasn't he already fallen so far beyond saving?), had wanted to punch him right in his pretty face, but he'd always been better with actions rather than words so he'd shown Kise then just how inadequate he still was, walking right past Kise when he needed to stand.   
  
 _Do better_  had been written in every line of his body, in every dunk and shot he'd made that went right through Kise's hands, and Kise seems to have taken up the challenge.  
  
Because as beautiful as he is on and off the court, Aomine likes him best here, in someone's dark basement or in some empty lot, the cheers from the sides not coming from an audience who showered up to be entertained but from guys as bloodied up as they are, waiting for their own turns. Kise looks like himself, but different, like someone had erased every part of him that still curved and had drawn in sharper edges. He looks like Aomine could cut himself on him just by grazing his skin, and Aomine's delighted that it's almost exactly the case.   
  
"Come on, pretty boy," he says, a taunt as good as any. "Is that all you've got?"  
  
He'll come to regret it, because it ends with Kise on top of him, eyes shut but his aim true as he delivers blow after blow on Aomine's face, until one of Aomine's eyes have swollen shut, until his nose had cracked in the middle, until one of his teeth seemed to have come loose.   
  
(But there's a part of him that always wanted this—his ass handed to him, in any way possible—so it's almost like he's the one who's won.)  
  
When they pull Kise off him, Kise's knuckles are torn open and flayed, and he's asking, "you okay, Aominecchi?" with equal parts innocence and deviousness, and while every part of Aomine's hurting like a bitch he wants to laugh when Kise offers him his hand.   
  
He takes it, feeling the world spin around him as he gets on his feet. "Yeah," he grins, spitting out the blood that had pooled in his mouth. "Yeah, I'm good."


	4. aokise - idols

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for [this](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/21522.html?thread=9963794#cmt9963794) prompt.

It's way too fucking sad, if he thinks about too hard, so he tries not to. Easier said than done, since thinking too hard is close to the top of the list of his personality problems, bested only by his ego and his general asshattery. He doesn't want to think and he definitely doesn't want to mope, but the world seems to be conspiring against him because it's when he finds himself alone, accompanied only by his thoughts, that Kise calls and goes straight to voicemail.   
  
 _It's me again, Aominecchi._  In a chipper voice that almost sounds autotuned.  _One of these days I'll wear you down and you'll pick up!_  
  
He never used to hang up so quick, so maybe it's Aomine that's wearing  _him_  down.   
  


* * *

  
  
Life on the road isn't too lonely, no matter how the tabloids and the general sentiment about idol life makes it seem otherwise. Sure, he's no longer surrounded by the other members, but there's plenty of other people with him. Managers, makeup artists, stylists, producers, technicians, his backup band and dancers, the works. Plenty of other people.  
  
Just not others in the same boat.   
  
But that's fine.   
  
He's always been better off flying solo anyway.  
  


* * *

  
  
_I saw you on the news today, Aominecchi. You're looking a little worn out, I gotta say, and I know just what'll change that! You know you want to!_  
  
"No, I don't," snaps Aomine at the phone, but by then the line's long dead and Kise couldn't have heard him anyway.   
  
(Their communication issues ran deeper than static.)  
  


* * *

  
  
His new album sells—and sells well. If he spared a glance at articles and hashtags, he'd see that the others are doing well too. But no moping around, remember? That's all that's gonna happen if he checked in on what anyone else has been doing.   
  
If they checked up on him, that's their loss, but somehow he knows that they won't either.   
  


* * *

  
  
"Kiichan called again," says Satsuki as he steps out of the recording booth. "You don't have to—well, you know. But you should at least talk to him."  
  
"I don't have to talk to anybody I don't want to." He says it a little too meanly than he intended, but he's got too much pride and irritation under his skin to apologize. Maybe later. Maybe when it's too late.  
  
(He's always been a little too late.)

 

* * *

  
  
In the end, it's that blunder with Satsuki that does it. She doesn't ignore him in the usual fashion, but she didn't talk to him unless he had to. Like a taste of his own medicine or something.  
  
"All right," he says, even more frustrated than he let on. "What do you want me to do?"  
  
She hands him his phone, already unlocked, blonde hair already on screen.   
  


* * *

  
  
"Kise, it's me. I'm not gonna sing with you." Before Kise can reply or interject, Aomine sighs, as if in surrender. "But if we're in the same city, or something..."  
  
"We'll catch up," finishes Kise, chipper still, but no longer manufactured. "Sounds good to me."  
  
"You're not pissed about the duet?"  
  
Kise doesn't answer right away. When he does, he sounds like he's smiling on the other end of the line, but like it's not entirely a happy smile. "It's never been the duet I was after, Aominecchi."


	5. aokuro - zombies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for [this](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/21522.html?thread=9636626#cmt9636626) prompt.

There's something to be said about reunions, and not a whole lot of good things at that. Really, he should've gotten used to them from how often Akashi orchestrated all of them 'running into each other' in Tokyo, even well into their university years, but being stuck together with people who knew about your deepest and darkest secrets from childhood has lost its novelty long ago. They're his friends or whatever, but he doesn't miss them that often, or at least, not as much as he'd admit.  
  
A reunion for the entirety of his middle school grade  _was_  pushing it though. There was no excuse for Teiko to spread its frightening reach across the globe to summon its best and brightest back into its (cursed) gymnasiums, and no excuse for any of them to answer the call.   
  
Naturally, maybe because they've all got some kind of masochistic streak, there they all were anyway, feeling far too big and too damn grown for a place that used to loom so large.   
  
This place used to be their whole world, and thank fucking god it isn't anymore.  
  
Especially since it's currently teeming with the undead, some of them—most of them—comprised of former classmates.   
  
"Got any ideas, Tetsu?" says Aomine as the two of them, somehow, find some refuge in an empty classroom, though it won't be empty soon enough, even if they are on the highest floor. The screams and the groaning (god, the groaning) are getting louder by the minute.   
  
"No," replies Kuroko, far too calm than the situation warrants. "I've never had to fight those before."  
  
Aomine snorts. "That makes two of us." When he draws his gun from its holster, Kuroko's eyes don't widen, but his voice does turn admonishing.   
  
"That's a dangerous weapon, Aomine-kun."  
  
"You're full of bright observations today, aren't you?"  
  
"What were you thinking," continues Kuroko, "bringing that to a school?"  
  
"I'm a cop, it's what I  _do._  Anyway, aren't you supposed to be happy we got something to arm ourselves with?"  
  
"I am."  
  
Aomine looks at him, still as deadpan as ever. It should piss him off, but Kuroko's always been too absurd to be mad at for very long. A smirk flits along Aomine's lips before he turns serious again. "Yeah, sure."  
  
Silence settles over them for a while, and the noises outside and below them fill it none too gracefully. Aomine can't stand it for very long."  
  
"You think everyone else is all right?" His thoughts flicker to Satsuki, and the very notion of never seeing her again—or worse, seeing her again when she isn't longer herself.  
  
Kuroko's tone is muted in his response, as if he'd been thinking of it all this time, but it had only turned real when spoken aloud. "I hope so."  
  
"Me too. I wouldn't want to go up against a zombie Murasakibara. Forget the size and strength, his appetite's gonna be the real kicker."   
  
It's not funny at all, and Aomine regrets it the moment it leaves his mouth, but Kuroko seems to have run out of reprimands for tonight.   
  
"Aomine-kun," he says, as they hear the din getting nearer. "Earlier tonight, you said you'd take me out for a drink after the reunion ends."  
  
Aomine pauses, even if he can't afford it. "Yeah?"  
  
"I'm holding you to it."  
  
The groaning seems to have reached their floor, but all Aomine can think about now is the face Kuroko would make if he had to drink anything other than his beloved milkshakes. Not seeing it is no longer an option.  
  
"Okay, Tetsu," he says as they get up on their feet and walk backwards, soundlessly, to put distance between themselves and the entrance. He aims his gun at the door.   
  
"I'll take you out for that drink."


	6. imahana - kiridai!imayoshi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for [this](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/22249.html?thread=11839977#cmt11839977) prompt.

To Hanamiya, the school he ends up in doesn't matter. He's always been a spider, spinning his webs in every dark corner, making traps and battlegrounds out of anywhere he wants, so it's only a matter of choosing the best possible environment where his webs can flourish.   
  
Instead of picking schools based on their facilities or their acclaimed histories, he looks for absent or incapable faculty, the ones that could and would turn a blind eye to his playtime if that's what it takes to get trophies on the shelves. It's wicked fun, but it's still competition, after all, even if all the trappings are secondary to someone who's just doing it it to find out if he can.   
  
So it's not the school that matters, he'd tell whoever might be listening, were he the type to reveal his schemes instead of reveling in the way they contrast against the persona he'd fabricated for himself.   
  
It's not the school but the people who are in them, which is why, he supposes, he chooses to go to the one that had the only person who's ever been able to see through him without Hanamiya wanting him to.  
  
"What a faithful kouhai," Imayoshi had said upon finding out, and it made Hanamiya want to kick his teeth in. He doesn't regret the decision, though, because he thinks they'd both suit Kirisaki Daiichi's black and green.   
  
When he gets there, the team is decent, but Imayoshi hadn't been able to craft it as he would've liked, being only a freshman the year before. Hanamiya sees to fixing it right away, the way he'd done at their middle school—weeding out the wheat from the chaff.   
  
The haughty senpai are the first to go, and then Hanamiya goes after the benchwarmers who seem like they won't be cooperative. Before long, he's thinned out the team to only the barest essentials, and this is where he'll start his kingdom.  
  
Imayoshi is not exempt from it all, because when Hanamiya enters his second year and Kirisaki Daiichi has created a name for themselves, he goes straight for the crown.   
  
"Pass down captaincy to me," he says, after everyone has left the locker room and it's just the two of them and the stink of sweat and their combined personalities in the air. Imayoshi doesn't seem bothered, smiling his perpetual fox smile.   
  
"I'd suggest we have a one-on-one about it, Makoto-kun," he says, using the nickname he knows makes Hanamiya want to wring his neck. "But I know you don't plan on playing fair."  
  
Imayoshi walks by, patting Hanamiya's head as he passes. "You can have the '4', but this team's mine until I graduate. After all," he says, glancing back as his eyes open a fraction, "I was here first."


	7. imahana - serial killers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for [this](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/21522.html?thread=10284818#cmt10284818) prompt.
> 
> includes some very graphic depictions of violence, so please tread carefully.

He's been tracking this mark for weeks: learning his schedule, visiting his usual hangouts, even talking to some of his acquaintances. Hanamiya doesn't miss a single step, doesn't err in his preparations or in his execution (hah!), doesn't falter when he thinks anyone might be on his tail. They never are, even when they think otherwise; he isn't on the Most Wanted list for nothing. Hanamiya Makoto of Tokyo Spider fame doesn't make mistakes.  
  
Except, maybe, just this once, in his choice of a mark.   
  
Or what's  _left_  of the mark, so to speak.   
  
Sato Haruto, fifty-five, a CEO with no immediate family in the city, is currently the comfort and warmth of his own bed, sleeping like a baby—is the story his face would tell. The rest of him say otherwise.   
  
He's cut open from throat to abdomen like a frog in the midst of dissection, lying peacefully on sheets that used to be white, but were now a deep rust brown. (Like salt in the wound, the blood had already dried—Hanamiya didn't even come close to coming here first.)  
  
But where Hanamiya would characteristically stop—the flaying's always the best part—his predecessor took it a step further. Upon closer inspection, Sato-san seems to be missing all his major organs.   
  
Motherfucker.   
  


* * *

  
  
This time, Hanamiya takes every precaution, doesn't miss a single detail. He won't be bested again—though his bitterness isn't about honor or pride or any sort of bullshit like that. It's just not as  _fun_  to lose. Who wants someone else's sloppy seconds?  
  
This time, the mark is one Suzuki Touma, twenty-three, from the post office. (Never let it be said that the Tokyo Spider discriminates.) Hanamiya's just finished packaging the last of him for delivery when a visitor walks in, calmly as he pleases, impeccably dressed but not out of place among the carnage.   
  
"I see I was too late," says the aforementioned motherfucker, surveying Hanamiya's handiwork. A grin crawls across Hanamiya's face, slow and thick as an oil spill.   
  
"You're right on time, thought you're not as smart as I thought, huh?" Hanamiya kicks away the box that contains Suzuki-san's head and stands, all the while with his teeth bared in mockery. "You could follow my bread crumbs, but you didn't realize I was luring you here?"  
  
"I realized it just fine, Mako-chan. But I couldn't resist your little game." The slits that passed for the man's eyes open, just a fraction, but enough to glint in the low light. "What, exactly, were you trying to accomplish?"  
  
Hanamiya stares at him; he's not grinning anymore.   
  
If the man knew his name, his  _real_  name, he'd know his weaknesses too. Hanamiya thrives on surprise, in the shadows; he's not so tough when people see him coming.   
  
"No need for the sleaze, it's always nice to meet a fan." He shrugs to hide the shudder of his shoulders, and tries to regain a little bit of his winning smile. "And you are?"  
  
The man's eyes are laughing, though Hanamiya's not sure if it's with him or  _at_  him. "Call me Shoichi. I supposed you earned that much."  
  
 _Motherfucker._  
  


* * *

  
  
Today's mark is—well, who cares? They're only secondary, now. He arrives outside the designated building and steps out of the car. There's no one else on the street—it's past midnight, in the quieter part of town—except for a smiling man in glasses.  
  
"Shall we?" asks Hanamiya. Shoichi places a hand in the small of Hanamiya's back, and a different sort of shudder reverberates through his spine.   
  
"After you."


	8. kagakuro - pacific rim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for [this](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/21522.html?thread=9669138#cmt9669138) prompt.

Some days he doesn't want to get out of bed. All it means is facing a reality where Tatsuya left him behind, a world where he's alone (again), and a shatterdome that has no more use for him, not really, even if they say otherwise. What good is he to anyone without a co-pilot, if he's too damn damaged to synchronize with anyone else, all because he feels like he might as well be missing an arm (or missing a heart?)  
  
Some days he can't. Thankfully, those days are few.   
  
But most days he peels himself off the sheets, set his feet on the ground, and breathes deep in a room that no longer smells like Tatsuya. His self-pity will get him nowhere.  
  
(His anger won't either, but at least that has somewhere to go.)  
  


* * *

  
  
He can't use his fists, but that's fine, that's good, because all it does is frustrate him, but where that used to distract, it only sharpens his focus (a leftover of his drifts with a former brother.) The staff is a heavy weight in his palms and it's satisfying to swing around, pretending it lifts the weight in his chest as it cuts through air.   
  
It shouldn't be a surprise that no one stands a chance with him in that state, wired with restless energy that has the slightest traces of grief. It shouldn't be a surprise that he explodes at his opponents and might as well leave them charred, the way he knocks them down in one, two, three strikes.   
  
What does come as a surprise is the day he finds himself lying flat on the ground, staring at the overheard lights until they're blocked by the person who did this to him, all blue eyes and nonchalance.   
  
"Are you all right, Kagami-kun?" A smaller hand is extended to him, and he's too dazed to think of refusing to take it.   
  
"I didn't even see you," he says when he's standing.   
  
"I get that a lot," says the boy he remembers being introduced to him, at the start of the match, as Kuroko Tetsuya.   
  
It's only once the rest of the candidates have filed out that Kagami realizes it's the first time he's lost, ever since his days in the Academy.   
  
(Back then, it had been because he couldn't get his eyes off Tatsuya.)  
  


* * *

  
  
When Kuroko takes his place beside him in the cockpit, Kagami only thinks it fair to issue a warning.   
  
"I—" he begins, then swallows, not because he had something to say but to fill the space because he doesn't yet. "They call this a death trap." He taps at his own temple, remembering the way Murasakibara had jeered at him ("it's a miracle Muro-chin made it out alive.") "And I don't blame them."  
  
Kuroko doesn't speak immediately, and when he does it's quiet, but full of conviction. "You're not as scary as you think, Kagami-kun."  
  


* * *

  
  
The Drift submerges them both in memories:   
  
 _Tatsuya's face, bathed in light, the day he saved Kagami and lost his first partner; Tatsuya's proud smile the after their first victory; Tatsuya's voice in his ear as their connection breaks, ('I can't hear you anymore')_  
  
 _and then a new face, familiar the way a fellow soldier is familiar, bathed in light in Kuroko's mind; a smile that accompanied the name 'Tetsu'; a voice that tells Kuroko (and tells Taiga, too) something he's already heard_  
  
but before it launches Kagami into chasing the rabbit, Kuroko's conviction pulls him back, almost desperately. His plea crosses both their minds, a sign that synchronicity has taken place.   
  
"I won't," says Kagami out loud, turning towards Kuroko to see that his blue eyes are wet, too. "I won't leave you behind."  
  
It's a promise he has no business making, but in return the corners of Kuroko's mouth lifts, as if he believed it.


	9. kisehimu - cannibals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for [this](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/21931.html?thread=11359147#cmt11359147) prompt.

"That hurts, Himurocchi."  
  
"Don't like a taste of your own medicine?"  
  
"Honestly, no." Kise's pout is magnificent, even with, or especially with, the nick in his lip that Himuro just put there. It would've been well-worth the tantrum, but thankfully, Kise turns curious instead. "Do you?"  
  
Himuro smirks, licking the blood off his teeth. "On occasion. Builds up the empathy."   
  
"And you call me nasty."   
  
"What's nasty is what you did to Ishida-san last week."  
  
Kise's expression, affronted only seconds before, perks up the way it does when his hard work is recognized. "You saw the news?"  
  
"I'm offended you think I'd miss it," says Himuro, though it's just lip service. They both realize what actually happens to people who do offend either of them. "What sin did the poor man ever commit against you?"  
  
"Oh, it wasn't personal," says Kise with a dismissive wave. "He just seemed like someone Haizaki actually liked."  
  
Himuro laughs, rewarding Kise for it with another kiss. No biting, this time, or it'll lose its effect. "That's cold, Kise-kun."   
  
"Now he'll think twice about roughing up his suspects so much." A pout threatens to surface on Kise's mouth again; Himuro chases it away with his own as Kise continues to complain. "I bruise easily, you know? It took weeks for them to go away."  
  
"I'm surprised you resisted going after Haizaki, though I suppose the investigation will suffer a worse blow without their chief. Particularly one who looked the other way when his agents broke the law."  
  
"He can wait! I want to make life hell for him first. When I'm done, he'll beg me for death himself." Kise winks, all sparkle and shine. Himuro stares at him for a moment, then two, before shaking his head with an amused smile.   
  
"Like I said, nasty."   
  
Kise looks like he'd hit Himuro with a pillow, were one currently in reach. That, or throw a knife at his head without hesitating. Lines tend to blur, when it comes to each other. "So mean."  
  
"I really am, aren't I?" Himuro shifts to lie on his back, in anticipation of the consequences. "Unlike your Kasamatsu-senpai."   
  
The consequences come in the form of five fingers suddenly wrapping around his throat and a slightly heavier frame straddling him, cutting off most means of escape. "I like you, Himurocchi, but I won't stand for you threatening my things."  
  
"Hardly a threat," says Himuro, his hands shifting to rest over the thighs trapping his own. "More like a promise."   
  
Kise's eyes narrow, foxlike, and with a thrust of his hips, tightens his grip as well. Himuro makes no move to resist; he even tips his head back further to grant better access. After what feels like a little eternity, Kise loosens his fingers, replaces them with his lips, and laughs.   
  
"You really are a masochist."  
  
"Atsushi says it's one of my redeeming qualities."  
  
"Oh?" says Kise, punctuating it with a slow grind between Himuro's spread legs. "And what will you do if—when Murasakibaracchi finds out what you've been doing to your old friends?"  
  
Himuro crosses his arms at Kise's nape and pulls him down, smile so sharp it reopens the wound on Kise's mouth. "Like you've already mentioned, hurting him would absolutely kill me."


	10. kiyohana - good omens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for [this](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/21522.html?thread=9732370#cmt9732370) prompt.

"You know," starts Kiyoshi, his finger like an electric current and Hanamiya's spine the lightning rod. "One would think you'd spend more time raising Akatsuki to bat for your team rather than, well, this."   
  
By 'Akatsuki' he meant the Antichrist, currently eleven years old with a penchant for baseball and not much else in the 'embodiment of all that is evil in the world' department. And by 'this,' which Kiyoshi punctuates by dragging a nail along the small of Hanamiya's back, he meant—  
  
"None of your damn business." It's exactly what Kiyoshi wants, but Hanamiya can't help from turning around to swat at the offending hand. Never mind that that hand was committing worse sins only minutes ago, fiddling around in places Hanamiya can't even mention aloud without having to wash his mouth with holy water. Never mind that his own mouth was—  
  
"Language, angel." Immediately Hanamiya realizes that turning around was a mistake, because even in the near-darkness he's treated to the languid, measured way a smile spreads across Kiyoshi's face. That smile has always nagged at the inner recesses of him that would've followed the third of the host that traded divinity for free will, had he been weak (or strong?) enough to surrender the Big Guy's light. Like moths to a flame, they're suckers, all of them that stayed, including himself.   
  
But he'd be lying if he didn't admit that he'd done his fair share of tempting too, irony of the role reversal aside.   
  
It's that smile, he insists, not the apple nor the tree, that caused the downfall of man.   
  
"Call me that again and I'll rip out your tongue," is what he says instead, in lieu of the embarrassing shit that always spring to mind in the afterglow.   
  
"I'd be worried more about your tongue if they heard you speak like that Up There." Kiyoshi's large palm—by God is it large—has settled on his waist now, thumb tracing circles on Hanamiya's hipbone.   
  
"We're not Up There, are we? I'll talk however I like."   
  
"Suit yourself. I always liked that about you."  
  
"Funny," sneers Hanamiya. "I'm having a hard time thinking of anything I like about you."  
  
At that, Kiyoshi no longer wears a smile. What's dancing around his lips could be better described as a grin, insinuating filth more than anything he could ever say.   
  
"I have all the proof I need in my bed." Kiyoshi's hand dips dangerously lower. "By 'proof' I meant you, by the way."  
  
Hanamiya hisses—here irony rears its head again—and swats the hand away, again, only to shift on top of Kiyoshi, close to spitting on his cheek. "I know what you fucking meant."  
  
"I know that too," smiles Kiyoshi, the grin gone and now looking positively angelic. "Just making sure."


	11. momoriko - james bond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for [this](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/21522.html?thread=9963538#cmt9963538) prompt.

"Turn right, 002, turn right!"   
  
"I  _am_  turning right, Q, don't yell at me!"  
  
"My right!  _My right!_ "  
  
"You couldn't be any clearer?"  
  
"He's gaining on you, just so you know."  
  
"Oh, shit."   
  
Kagami wasn't even remotely close to overtaking Aomine, but what Aomine didn't know is a win for their team, so the lie doesn't linger on Momoi's conscience too much. Aomine always needed unique motivators, so to speak, which is what happens when the Agency employs agents who don't care enough about protecting the country as much as they should.   
  
If forging rivalries within the department is what gets them going, Momoi thinks it's a sweet bargain.  
  
"Now," she says into Aomine's earpiece once he arrives at a crossroads again. "Turn left. My left."  
  
"I got it." Aomine pauses, as if he's mulling something over, and he proves Momoi's suspicions in less than two seconds. "He's not still right behind me, is he?"  
  
"No, you've lost him." Momoi takes a cursory sip of her peach tea, smiling at the incoming realization.   
  
"Was he  _ever_  right behind me?"  
  
"Nope. 006 is operating in a different region tonight. Don't tell me you miss him?"  
  
"Satsuki!"  
  
"I'm sorry, Dai-chan, but mentioning him always sharpens your focus. And don't tell me I'm wrong, because I'm not."  
  
At the other end of the line, Momoi hears him grumble. "Whatever. Just tell me where to go next."  
  
She sets down her mug. "I'm on it."  
  


* * *

  
  
They gather the necessary intel before the sun has even risen, so Momoi considers it a job well-done. She sets Aomine on a private jet home and placates him with promises of the latest magazine with Mai-chan in it before it hits the printing press, and calls it a night.   
  
She's just about to leave the office when Aida, another Q, and the  _only_  other Q on Momoi's level, walks into her quarters wearing an expression just short of smug.   
  
"You only finished now? My 00 completed the mission  _hours_  ago."  
  
Momoi smiles, inwardly, because she's not about to give Aida the satisfaction of seeing it. This part, too, is cursory. "Is that so? Well, we all know 006 has always been a smidge sloppy in his execution. It's only natural that he'd finish first."  
  
"As if 002's infiltration of Touou Corporation isn't right under the dictionary definition of  _sloppy_ —"  
  
Momoi clears her throat, changing tactics. She's not about to admit defeat so early. "We can go at this all night, Q. Is this all you really came here for?"  
  
"Yeah, why else would I—"  
  
Momoi flicks a pen off her desk and bends over to pick it up, giving Aida an unobstructed view down her chest. When she's upright again, Aida's face is sporting a magnificent blush.   
  
"You're cheating, Q."  
  
"Only using what's in my arsenal. We both know how that goes." Here is when she smiles, considering it her victory, however close the margin had been. "My place, or yours?"  
  
"Yours," says Aida quickly. She reaches out, twirls a lock of Momoi's cherry blossom hair with the tips of her fingers. "Some of the boys keep crashing at mine, and it  _stinks_  there right now."  
  
Momoi's mind flickers to Dai-chan's unfortunate preference in deodorants, and laughs. Aida mirrors the sound, and Momoi can't help but lean in to taste it.  
  
"I know the feeling."


	12. nijihimu - battle royale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for [this](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/22249.html?thread=11961321#cmt11961321) prompt.

Life isn't fair; this is a fact that Tatsuya knows intimately, inked along the insides of his bones and seeping into the marrow. It isn't fair to have been born lesser than other people, always a few steps behind no matter how hard he tries. It isn't fair that it seems like everything he wants was never meant for him to have, whether it's tangible or not. It isn't fair that everything he loves seems intent on leaving him, from the way he and Taiga never had a proper ending, to the way he and Shuu seems to have reached theirs now.   
  
He wishes he wasn't self-centered enough to think this all happened because of him and his incredibly bad luck, but his mind is racing and he hasn't the heart nor the time to be rational right now. His composure hadn't done him any good, and neither does his passion, because what's any of that when it involves a battle for survival? Skills matter, and instinct more so, but more than anything it's luck that decides the victor in this arena and it's something he just doesn't have. He's just sorry he got Shuu roped up in this, roped up in  _him_  and all the ways the world seems intent on making him its punching bag.   
  
"I can hear you thinking," says Shuu, and at this rate it's a wonder he can even speak at all, but he can, and of course the first thing he tells Tatsuya after the fact is a reprimand. He  _had_  heard that Shuu had been a good basketball captain, in his day. "And if I'm right, then you're beating yourself up over this. Stop."  
  
"It's hard not to," says Tatsuya, honestly, bitterly, with Shuu's head resting on his lap and his fingers sifting through Shuu's hair. They're dyed brown from blood that had dried, from earlier when he couldn't accept it and had tried to stop it all from leaking out. "If I'd been paying more attention—"  
  
"You're not the asshole that shot me, Tatsuya."  
  
"But you're the asshole that took the shot  _for_  me. What am I supposed to do now?"  
  
This, he asks in earnest, his voice hoarse and his eyes damp and sore. What's he supposed to do in a world where he only exists because Shuu doesn't?  
  
"You're gonna make it," answers Shuu, breathing a little more labored than before. "You're gonna survive, you hear me? And you'll make all those bastards at the top pay for making us fight each other."  
  
It sounds grand, put like that, like he could be a revolutionary, a spirit of vengeance, instead of a boy who couldn't even keep his best friend alive.   
  
"That's a tall order, Shuu," says Tatsuya, closing his eyes against the threat of more tears when Shuu doesn't respond. "You aren't being fair at all."


	13. nijihimu - vampires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for [this](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/22341.html?thread=12738373#cmt12738373) prompt.

Tatsuya heads to the club with no expectations, no plans other than to dance and drink (and perhaps dine if the situation allows), and no amount of preparation for meeting any ghosts from his past, but it's Halloween, and it turns out he isn't the most terrifying thing let loose into the night.   
  
He's just one of them.  
  
Overstimulation, especially for someone with heightened senses, comes with the territory of parties like these, but nothing—not the bass thumping under his shoes, not the incessant strobe lights in his eyes, not the smell of a hundred bodies sweating and grinding against each other—could have kept him from sensing that familiar presence, still the same after all these years.   
  
Subtle but steady, reliable and rock solid, unwavering like a lighthouse in a perilous sea.   
  
Tatsuya braves the crowd, narrowly avoiding elbows in his face but not shoulders knocking with his, so that he can stand in front of the person he'd once left so long ago.   
  
(To be fair, Shuu had left him first.)  
  
They're both wearing masks, like everyone else in the room, and somehow that has Tatsuya putting on a charade of his own.  
  
"Pardon me, but you don't strike me as a  _kitsune_ type."   
  
It throws Shuu off, relaxes him somewhat from the frozen pose he'd taken on when he also sensed Tatsuya near. For a moment Tatsuya wonders if he'd have lost his taste for games, but then Shuu is scoffing, playing along.  
  
"I bet you think being a dragon makes you cool."  
  
"I don't, but it seems you do? Thank you." Tatsuya's grinning, and Shuu's rolling his eyes, just like old times.   
  
As if they'd never taken a break from the  ~~days~~  nights they spent luring unsuspecting victims into dark corners, with Tatsuya toying with his food and Shuu telling him to knock it off.   
  
As if the break hadn't been nearly a century long.   
  
"You come here just to tell me how stupid I look?" says Shuu, with that mild irritation everpresent. Maybe humans, or whatever it is they've been turned into, stop changing after enough decades have passed.   
  
"That, and to ask you to dance," says Tatsuya. Shuu shakes his head, leaning on the bar like he's glued to it.  
  
"I don't dance."  
  
_You used to_ , thinks Tatsuya, before he can help himself.  _With me._  
  
Had he forfeited the right to dance with Shuu after all? He remembers the very last conversation they had, though it was less of a dialogue and more of a verbal brawl.  
  
Tatsuya had called Shuu a sentimental fool for wanting to return to his family, despite what he was, just because he'd heard his father was on his deathbed.   
  
_They'll put a stake in your heart,_  Tatsuya had warned,  _and you'd have it coming._  
  
And then Shuu had called him a coward, citing the teacher and brother Tatsuya had once deserted.  
  
_Just because you never want to see them again, doesn't mean I feel the same way about mine._  
  
Tatsuya told him, then, that if Shuu walked out their door, he won't be there when he came back. And so he wasn't, and that had been Tatsuya's final memory of Shuu until the present moment.  
  
But this time, with Shuu's refusal comes a different offer.   
  
"Let's not waste any more time."   
  
Which is how Tatsuya finds himself in the alley behind the club, pressed up against the wall with Shuu's fangs sinking into his throat, as if Shuu had exhausted all his self-control just speaking to him, just like before.  
  
Tatsuya holds onto his shoulders, tipping his head back as Shuu drinks his fill. Shuu abruptly pulls away when he's finished, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  
  
"Sorry," he mutters, embarrassment creeping into his voice. "You're always just so—you've always been—"   
  
"Infuriating?" supplies Tatsuya, his smile teasing. "Beautiful? Both?"   
  
Had he a functioning circulatory system, Tatsuya's sure Shuu would've blushed. Instead, he just directs a heatless glare at Tatsuya.  
  
"Would you take that thing off?" he says, removing Tatsuya's mask himself. The glare softens, and it's Shuu's eyes that drink him in, this time. "Yeah, both."  
  
"Come again?"  
  
"You're both," says Shuu, leaning in again. When they kiss, it tastes like blood, metallic on their tongues, but it's gentle too, infused with a lifetime's worth of waiting.


End file.
